Turning Point
by squifer
Summary: She hated Shiranui Genma. He hated her...at least, that's what they wanted to believe. One drunken night, sometimes, can lead to more confessions than a lifetime of fighting will. GenmaxOC. Lemonish, rated to be safe.
1. Drunk

_This character's a complete OC, taken out of my strange imagination. I should probably explain a few things before you read it. One—although it's pretty obvious, she's Yamashiro Aoba's younger sister. She's twenty-three and has curly dark blue hair and blue eyes, earning her name, Aoitori—"bluebird" in Japanese. She's grown up with Genma and her brother being close friends, but she and Genma have fought viciously all their lives—seriously injuring each other most of the time. To irritate her, he calls her Karasu, "crow"._

_Aoitori is NOT a Mary Sue. She's pretty, yeah, but that in of itself doesn't make a Mary Sue. She's a strong jounin, but not all-powerful—Genma can beat the crap out of her at least two out of three times. She has a vicious temper that she finds pretty hard to control, especially around him. She drinks and swears and fights as well as any other kunoichi. She's a caring friend, but she can be pretty selfish when she's not paying attention._

_**Feel free to review this if you want, but there's honestly no pressure, and please, please don't flame me. I'm putting this up because I feel like it, and if you don't like it, don't read it—don't put yourself through that. Don't feel personally insulted if you don't like what somebody else writes—instead of screaming at them for doing a crap job, ignore them.**_

_Thanks and I hope you like it!_

_Disclaimer: Wish I owned it, know I don't._

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He saw her across the room, sitting alone at the bar. She was scowling, surrounded by empty sake bottles, emitting a dark aura so terrifying that everyone had wisely chosen to stay away from her.

Shiranui Genma was not generally noted for being exceptionally wise.

"Ohayo, Karasu-chaaaaan," he sang, dropping onto the seat next to her. Yamashiro Aoitori's hand clenched around her drink, her left eye giving an almost invisible twitch. For once, she had clamped her mouth shut.

Inwardly the twenty-nine-year-old shinobi raised an eyebrow. Outwardly, he let her lack of a response pass.

"Great party, ne, Karasu-chan?" He said. He put just enough mocking sincerity into his voice, knowing exactly what to say to piss her off.

That time he hit the mark. She raised her head, blue-black hair falling back to reveal pale skin flushed from drink and cold, flashing blue eyes.

"Fuck off, Shiranui," she said. That was one of the only things he would openly admit that he admired about her—even when completely shitfaced, she could usually talk without running her words together. "And don't call me Karasu."

He shrugged. "Whatever you say, Yamashiro." He turned, signaling to the bartender for a drink.

They sat in silence for a minute. Genma's drink came and she finished hers, but she sat wordlessly, not bothering to call for another.

He cast her a sidelong glance. Setting down his sake, he sighed.

"All right, girl. Go ahead and get it out."

She gave him her perfected Glare of Death. "I thought I told you to fuck off?"

He shrugged. "I'm bored, and I'm nosy." He drank, ignoring her furious eyes boring holes into his skull.

"Shiranui, we've been bitter rivals since I was six and you were twelve. You're my brother's best friend and I hate everything about you. You've been working closely with one of my best friends, which pisses me off to no end. You're a lazy, stupid, womanizing jackass. Why the hell would I tell you if anything was wrong?"

He finished his sake and gestured for another. While he waited, he turned to her and responded.

"Because you're drunk, there's obviously something wrong, and you need someone to vent to."

"Why do you care?" She asked. Her tone was almost…curious. The curiosity was almost lost in the contempt lacing her voice.

He sighed.

"I'm not a complete bastard, Yamashiro. Besides, I'm a little drunk too. But don't tell anybody."

She gave him a bitter, twisted smile. "He's leaving tomorrow," she said quietly.

Genma blinked. "Aoba? Yeah, I know. I'm leaving with him."

She glared down at her hands. "I know you are."

There was quiet for a moment, broken by the raucous sounds of the party in the background. The bartender brought Genma his drink.

"I can't forget the last time he came back from a mission," she admitted. "He almost died, remember?"

Genma snorted. "Yeah, I remember. I was the one who had to carry him back. Your brother can take care of himself, Yamashiro. Don't worry about him."

He was about to raise his sake to his lips when he realized it wasn't there. He glanced over and saw her take a long draught. He glared.

"You realize that was mine."

"Gerroff m'back," she grumbled.

The alcohol-induced haze that had settled over his mind didn't let him recognize the warning signs at first. After a moment, though, his eyes widened.

Yamashiro Aoitori was _slurring_?

He looked closer. Her blue eyes were half-closed, her skin flushed and hot. He sighed.

"All right, Yamashiro. I think you've had enough to drink."

"Y'r just jealous," she sighed, her head sinking down to rest on her folded arms.

He made a decision that he may never have made if he were completely sober—they _were_ rivals, after all. He stood up and dragged her arm over his shoulder, pulling her up with him.

"Come on, Karasu-chan. I'm taking you home."

She didn't protest at all as he steered/hauled her out of the party, walking down the street. He sweatdropped, trying not to think about just how drunk she must have been—the girl had a notorious temper, especially when it came to him, and she hated people trying to help her. The crisp autumn air seemed to refresh her a little, and she stopped leaning on him. Not that he minded that much—she wasn't all that heavy to begin with, and the night was a little chill. The added warmth was nice.

Her apartment was all the way across town. He suddenly regretted not enlisting Hayate or Aoba's help. Aoba was her older brother, after all, and Hayate was her closest friend. He wasn't going to waste half the night dragging her drunk ass around Konoha, but he shuddered to think what she might do if she woke up, completely hung over, in his apartment.

His place was pretty close, though, so he decided to bring her there, let her pass out on his bed, and call her brother and have him pick her up.

The walk barely took ten minutes. It didn't take her nearly that long to recover from her drowsy state. He wasn't paying too much attention to her, though, so it caught him completely by surprise when he stopped in front of his door to reach for his keys and found himself being slammed up against the wall.

Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. She was a kunoichi, after all—a very drunk, unpredictable kunoichi, and she still had all her skills.

He found himself suddenly in a very awkward position. She had his back pressed to the wall, her fists gripping his black shirt. Her smaller, lithe body was practically molded against his. Her chin was resting on his left shoulder.

"Shiranui, I have a question," she breathed. Her lips grazed his ear as she spoke, making a tongue of flame race through his body.

He was nowhere near as drunk as she was. He knew what was happening was very, very wrong, and he knew she'd kill him once she was sober. If she didn't do it, her brother would not fail to come up with various unpleasant torture methods that would undoubtedly prove to strain the bonds of their friendship.

He couldn't help himself.

"I'm listening," he replied, his voice coming out much huskier than he'd intended. She shivered—just why, he wasn't sure. It wasn't particularly cold at the moment.

"I hate you," she whispered, but it lacked conviction. "I've hated you for fourteen years. I hate the way you talk, I hate the way you laugh, I hate the way you tease, I hate the way you walk. I despise the way you wear your hitai-ate. I hope you choke on that god-damned senbon you always insist on chewing. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He blinked, not particularly upset. For one, she shrieked insults like those at him all the time, often accompanied by death threats and violence. For another, her warm breath was heating the sensitive skin of his throat and doing strange things to his mind. He wasn't thinking very clearly.

"I hear you," he told her, wondering what was coming next. She hissed slightly, drawing in an annoyed breath.

"I can't figure it out," she murmured. "I can't find a single thing I like about you, but I can't get you out of my head."

Bingo.

She was on a roll now. He actually found himself listening, tearing his mind away from the distracting things her closeness was doing to him.

"For some reason," she continued, "I find myself worrying when you're off on a mission. For some reason, when you come back injured, I want to clean your wounds and keep you healthy. I want to be with you during your fights. I don't ever want to let you out of my sight. And you'd better be listening carefully, Shiranui Genma, because there's no way in hell I'll ever admit this when I'm sober."

He was listening. He was listening very closely.

"I don't know what it means," she said, clearly frustrated. "I've only ever felt this way about aniki and Hayate and Iwashi."

He felt a slight, unfamiliar pang of jealousy when she mentioned her former Genin teammates—both of whom she'd dated for very, very brief periods of time. She'd also gone with Kotetsu for a while. Then, of course, there was Iruka and—

Shit. He was actually starting to list her former flings. That would prove to be a very bad idea.

"Genma."

He looked down and immediately wished he hadn't. Her blue eyes, dark and smoldering emotions he never thought he'd see there, were gazing straight up into his.

"There's one more thing I want to do," she told him.

He knew he wouldn't be able to resist her. He knew it. He had to leave, duck out of her embrace, get the hell away. He couldn't afford this, not just then. Neither could she.

There was a quiet clank as his hitai-ate and senbon hit the floor. Her right hand fisted itself in his dark hair and pulled his head down to meet hers.

There was nothing chaste in her kiss. Nothing to remind him of the loud, outgoing little girl he'd led into adulthood, kicking and screaming all the way. Her kiss was hungry, almost desperate, and he suddenly found that he had no choice but to return it with an equal burning passion. Her kiss was doing something to him—filling him with a flaming desire he hadn't felt in a very long time.

They stumbled back against his door. He felt for the knob and briefly considered kicking it down, not wanting to bother with keys—but it opened under his hand. He'd forgotten to lock it.

How very convenient.

Her hand had already slid out of his hair and up under his shirt, nails tracing teasing patterns over his chest. He was busy with her clothes. It was the same style outfit she'd been wearing since before he'd met her—a sleeveless, short black kimono that reached to mid-thigh and a long-sleeved mesh shirt underneath.

The kimono was easy—a quick tug on the sash and it dropped off as though it was never meant to be on in the first place. She'd already teased off his shirt and started on his pants. Her mesh shirt gave him a little trouble—the thing was so damn _clingy_. She was distracting him even more now, kissing the base of his throat and shoulder.

She stumbled slightly when he backed her into his bed. The mesh shirt came off and they sank down onto the mattress. He kissed her jaw, then the spot just under her ear where her jawbone ended. Her fingers tightened, sharp nails digging into his back. He ignored the raw pain and nibbled her earlobe lightly, teasingly, licking the edge of her ear. Her swollen lips parted slightly, allowing a low moan to escape her.

The sound spurred him on. He went lower, kissing and licking along her collarbone, reaching under her to unsnap and toss away one of the last two barriers between them. She hissed in sudden pleasure, arching up and pressing against him as experienced hands touched and tormented her most sensitive areas.

"Genma—"

Her gasp quickly changed to another fervent moan, silenced almost immediately when his lips locked on hers again. His hand left her breast, tracing down her side and leaving her shuddering, coming to a light rest on the smooth skin of her hip. There he encountered the final obstruction.

With all his heart, Genma vowed that once this was done he would personally hunt down the woman who invented undergarments and kill her—slowly and painfully.

It had to have been a woman. No man could possibly have that sadistic and twisted a mind.

"What are you waiting for?" She gasped. He'd broken the kiss in his halfhearted irritation. He suddenly realized just how ready she was, arching up and pressing against him. Her lips were traveling from his cheek to his jaw to his throat, encouraging, begging, demanding more. He couldn't help but smirk. Teasing her would be fun.

But first, the challenge of the underwear. He didn't have time to pull it off—that would have been a waste. He ripped it instead, throwing it to one side. She didn't seem to care.

He dipped his head back down to nuzzle her collarbone. He traced his tongue down her breastbone, delighting in the taste of her smooth skin and the burning heat that sprang up under his touch. She gave a sharp cry when his tongue found her breast, and he suddenly—irrationally—found himself very glad his walls were soundproof. She was _his_, and he wasn't going to share this night with anyone but her.

She cried his name as his tongue laved her navel, her legs wrapping around his waist. That was followed in quick succession by another strangled yelp of delight as his hand reached up and continued its previous ministrations.

"Genma," she groaned. "Not fair—I can't…think straight…"

He gave a low, throaty chuckle that made her shiver. Even in the midst of dizzying sexual heights, his rich voice had the power to make her heart skip. He was in control now and he knew it. She had the sudden feeling he would use that until he had her screaming for his mercy.

Quite frankly, that idea didn't seem half bad at the moment.

She reconsidered that thought almost immediately as her back arched involuntarily, responding to the barest touch of his breath on her hip. This was torture—pain and pleasure and frustration and ecstasy, all rolled into one indescribable, unmanageable feeling that was threatening to rip her to pieces if he didn't end—

That idea and everything following was erased immediately, along with any other coherent thought in her head. She _shrieked_ in delight as his talented mouth found the most delicate place she had. He raised his head and couldn't help but flash her a wicked grin before leaning up to kiss her hungrily.

She responded fiercely, gasping against his mouth. He was a little unnerved to find that her unconditional arousal had started to affect him as well. He was the one touching her—she was barely even trying to stimulate him at this point—yet his mind was starting to trip out, leaving him gasping just as much as she with a frightening craving for completion.

"Karasu-chan," he said hoarsely. He'd called her 'crow' since they were children, making fun of her name—although 'bluebird' was quite appropriate, fitting her dark blue hair and flashing azure eyes. She'd hated his nickname for her for as long as he could remember. But now…now it just made her moan louder.

"What are you waiting for," she breathed again. "Genma…"

About then all rational thought disappeared.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_All right. There's the first chapter. I'll put up the second and last soon. After that, if you want flashbacks to the growth of their relationship (;; if you can call it that…they pretty much tried to kill each other whenever they saw each other), feel free to review asking me for some. I'm crazy busy this year, so I might not be able to, but I'll try. Thanks for sticking with me!_


	2. Morning After

_Okay, here's the second and last chapter. Again, review if you feel like it, but please no flames._

_Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: do you THINK I own Naruto? Or Genma? No, all I own is Karasu-chan._

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aoitori woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, a large gap in her memory and a feeling of security.

She ignored the headache and temporary amnesia, focusing instead on figuring out where she was. She was in a vaguely familiar room, lying in a bed she'd never tested before. She was warm and relaxed.

That was when she realized she wasn't alone. A strong arm was snaked around her waist, a tall, well-built body lying close behind her and enveloping her in warmth. Soft lips were pressed lightly against her shoulder blade. The lips moved slightly, his breath tickling her back.

"Awake already, gorgeous?"

Genma felt her tense and knew she was awake. He murmured a greeting and loosened his arm, allowing her to roll over and look at him.

She stared, then flushed, and then turned bright red. He swallowed a laugh—it had taken him a while to figure out what was going on, too, and she had been way more hammered the night before than him. He was just waiting for her temper to break.

Then she did something unexpected—she hid her flaming face in his bare chest.

"Oh, God," she groaned. "What the hell was I _thinking_?"

"You weren't, not really," he reminded her. "You were plastered. Absolutely tanked."

"Did I really _say_ that?" She whispered, mortified.

"Which part were you wondering about?" He inquired.

She was silent. He smirked, even though the effect was pretty much lost, since she still had her head buried in his chest.

Which was quite a nice feeling, actually.

He pulled his thoughts away from that road and went back to her present shock. "Right, now I remember. You mean the part where you told me you can't stop thinking about me and you want to be with me for the rest of our lives?"

She stiffened. "You leave for your A-rank mission today," she said brightly. He could have sworn he heard a note of panic in her voice. "Hopefully, you'll get sliced up into little pieces, and then I won't have to worry anymore. I'd better go—"

"Karasu-chan. Stop."

Why couldn't she stop shivering whenever she heard his deep voice? It was _irritating_ as hell. And why wasn't that infuriating nickname doing anything whatsoever to infuriate her?

She fell silent and his voice softened.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I hate you," she answered stubbornly. "There's no way in hell I could like you."

"So you like me?"

"No. I don't love—"

She froze. He froze.

Then, with absolute conviction, she said, "I'm still drunk. Don't listen to anything I say."

"You said something else that was strange last night, you know."

She didn't answer.

"You said that there was no way you'd have the courage to say this when you were sober, so I'd better listen good while you were drunk."

Still no answer. He gave a low laugh.

"Are you embarrassed, Karasu-chan?"

She was quiet for a minute. Then, in a low voice, she said, "you know…I really, really hated you."

He stopped laughing. "That was past tense."

She sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, it was."

He hesitated.

"Aoitori…"

She glanced up, shocked to hear her real name on his lips. For once in his life, his dark eyes were completely serious.

"It's a quick mission," he told her. "Escorting some rich dipshit who thinks he's important enough to get attacked. With Aoba along, it'll be fast and easy—I honestly think Hokage-sama just wants to give us busywork. When I get back, do you think you might be able to hate me a little less?"

She looked up for a long time, neither moving nor speaking. When she did finally talk, her voice was even.

"I have one question," she said. "There's a reason I never even thought about falling in love with you, you know. You do have a reputation as a womanizer—"

"You're not exactly discreet yourself, you know."

"I don't sleep around, Genma, but you do. How do I know this isn't just some—"

He cut her off by firmly pressing his lips against hers. His kiss took her breath away.

"Trust me," he said quietly as he pulled away, his lips grazing her cheek.

"Shinobi can't trust anyone," she hissed once she'd gotten her breath back. But it was halfhearted, a last-ditch attempt to preserve her dignity.

Her heart melted when he flashed her that wicked smirk. He lowered his head to hers again and kissed her gently, smiling against her mouth when she responded willingly. His fingers traced down her jaw and throat almost lazily, making her shiver. He pulled his head back and gazed down at her with a strange expression in his dark eyes.

"I hope you realize," he said calmly, "that your brother is going to castrate me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to shower before work." He paused.

"You're welcome to join me, if you'd like," he added thoughtfully.

She shoved him off the bed, listening in satisfaction to his surprised yelp. Then she sank deeper into his bed, closing her eyes with a small, smug smile.

Last night had been turned around on her—instead of him succumbing to her, he had gotten the upper hand within five minutes. However, she would be damned if she let him have the last word.

-------------------------0-------------------------

Kurenai, Shizune and Anko stared.

And stared. And stared.

And then, they stared some more.

Yes—even the irrepressible, psycho, homicidal Mitarashi Anko was struck speechless.

Finally, Aoitori had had enough. Her eye twitching, she slammed her hand down on the table.

"Dammit!" She yelled. "What's wrong with you people?"

The three other kunoichi shared a glance.

"Um, Aoitori-chan," Kurenai said slowly. "Did you just say that you…_slept _with _Shiranui Genma_?"

Aoitori flushed. "Are you really gonna make me repeat myself?"

Anko cracked up. Aoitori scowled at her as she doubled up with laughter, falling sideways onto the floor and proceeding to have a fit.

"It's not funny, Mitarashi!"

She turned her glare on Kurenai and Shizune, who were currently trying their best not to mimic their insane friend. Shizune was biting her lip hard, and Kurenai was doing her best to hide her smile behind a hand and a polite cough. It wasn't working very well. Aoitori scowled and sank down in her seat, crossing her arms obstinately.

"I fail to see the humor here," she said pointedly.

Kurenai stopped trying to hide her amusement and openly grinned.

"Oh, come on, Aoitori-chan," she said with a slight laugh. "We're just happy for you."

"Happy?" Aoitori cried. "I go from hating a guy to fucking him in one night! I'm confused as hell! How does this inspire happiness?"

Kurenai and Shizune each gave her a withering glance. Anko was still in paroxysms of laughter on the floor.

"You're an idiot," Shizune said—very bluntly for the soft-spoken, easily panicked kunoichi.

"You haven't really hated him in years," Kurenai added. "Not like you wanted to make yourself believe."

Aoitori glared at her hands. "Shut up. You don't know me as well as you think."

Shizune rolled her eyes. "You've had the hots for him for ages, admit it. That's why you fought with him so much—you were terrified of being attracted to a guy you've waged war on since you were six."

Aoitori was silent for a minute. Then she gasped, her eyes widening.

"Shit!"

They both stared at her. "What?"

She buried her head in her shaking hands. "I think…I might have told him I loved him."

"What?" They shrieked.

"I was drunk!" She cried desperately. "I was totally, totally drunk, and I let it slip—"

"Let it _slip_?" Kurenai said, startled. "You mean—"

Aoitori froze.

"Aoitori-chan," Shizune said slowly. "Are you—actually—in love with him?"

Aoitori began to slam her head against the table. Repeatedly.

Anko's shaking hand reached up and grasped the side of the table. She dragged herself up, still wiping her streaming eyes.

"Hee, hee, hee!" She giggled. "Oh, that's rare! Shiranui Genma and Yamashiro Aoitori! The most unlikely couple in the history of ever!"

Shizune glared at their hyperactive friend. "Don't make this harder, Anko-san!"

"But, Shizune!" Anko cried, still laughing. "You haven't been here for the past few years. You have no idea what terror these two put old man Sarutobi through! It's priceless!"

Shizune's curiosity was piqued. She couldn't help herself. "How deep did their enmity run, exactly?" She asked.

Anko gave the glaring bluebird a wicked grin. "Oh, it was deep," she said happily. "Couldn't get within a mile of each other without starting a fight and destroying part of town. Ended up putting each other in the hospital more times than not. Hey, hey! Kurenai! Remember the time it was so bad Hokage actually put them both on a restraining order from each other? They weren't allowed to get within twenty meters of each other for six months."

Shizune paled. "What did you two _do_?"

Aoitori didn't answer. Kurenai sighed.

"Doesn't matter anymore. Aoitori-chan, listen."

The younger girl didn't say anything, but her blue eyes flicked to the older kunoichi.

"You told him you loved him?"

"I said something like it…then I covered it up."

"What did he say?"

She was quiet for a minute. Then she said, "Well…I told him I hated him, and he asked me if I'd be able to hate him any less by the time he got back. I said I couldn't trust a Casanova, and he kissed me. And…"

She paused. Shizune leaned forward. "And?"

She scowled. "He invited me to take a shower with him."

Shizune and Kurenai facefaulted. Anko sat up.

"Well? Did you?"

Aoitori stared at her friend. "No. I shoved him off the bed and fell back to sleep."

"Oh." The crazy lavender-haired kunoichi sat back, clearly disappointed.

"So," Kurenai said, recovering quickly. "You going to give him a chance?"

Aoitori considered it.

"You know what? I think I will." She smirked. "If nothing else, his skills are… astonishing. In more ways than one."

Seeing that she was lost in her own world, Kurenai grinned an uncharacteristically wicked grin and leaned over to whisper in Anko's ear.

"That's seven thousand yen to me, Mitarashi."

Anko's scowl sent daggers her way. "Collect it from the betting pool, Yuuhi."

-------------------------0-------------------------

The problem with sleeping with your best friend's sister, Genma mused, was that it was very difficult to figure out just how one would go about broaching the subject.

It wasn't like he could just go up to Aoba and say, "Hey, Yamashiro, what's going on?…Oh, and by the way, I banged your sister last night."

No, that would send him straight to hell in a handbasket with wolves on his tail and steel up his ass. Missing a couple of vital body parts he'd much rather have intact, thank you very much.

He supposed he could just not say anything. It was probably the safest option, and he'd be able to get home pretty much unscarred. However, he had the feeling that if he didn't mention it, Aoitori would withdraw certain privileges for a very long time…and probably take those same body parts along with them.

As Nara Shikamaru would say, this is why women are troublesome.

He thought back to that morning. After his shower, he and Karasu-chan had talked briefly before he'd had to leave. She'd never been good at showing her emotions, and he'd been able to make her blush redder than a tomato—albeit a very attractive tomato—but he'd managed to get some idea of her true feelings. To his delight, they coincided almost exactly with his own.

Genma was many things, but 'fool' wasn't among his titles. His view of Yamashiro Aoitori had changed drastically over the past few years—from disdain and outright hatred, to grudging respect, towards something akin to admiration…that admiration had grown and changed, until now, when he couldn't get his mind off her.

It had been like that for the past several months.

He was also pretty observant—he was ANBU, after all—and he'd noticed slight changes in her behavior towards him. It had started just after the restraining order was withdrawn and they'd seen each other for the first time in half a year. She was much less violent than before. At the time he'd thought it was out of resentment—she was avoiding conflict because she didn't want to be bothered, or something like that. Then, gradually, their relationship grew to the point where they could actually look each other in the eye without threatening to disembowel the other with something pointy and preferably dull.

There was one more thing Genma had—brutal self-honesty. No matter how much he may have denied one of his faults to the world, he acknowledged everything about himself in the privacy of his own mind. And recently, his feelings for the smaller, blue-haired Jounin kunoichi had grown to the point where he could no longer ignore them.

He loved her.

And after last night and that morning, he was pretty sure she felt the same.

Genma was jerked out of his thoughts when his friend spoke.

"Penny for your thoughts, Shiranui?" Aoba asked calmly.

Caught by surprise, the younger jounin didn't answer.

"Have fun last night?" Aoba continued. "I mean, I don't really remember what happened…at all, actually. I was pretty smashed. What did you do?"

"I—uh…" he took a deep breath. "Aoba, look. I think I'm dating your sister."

Aoba looked at him, the expression in his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. "You _think_?"

"Well, uh—"

"What, exactly, brought about this occurrence?"

Genma, remembering the serious seduction that had occurred, flushed slightly.

"Well, I—I mean, she and I—um—I don't—"

"Finally."

Genma gaped at his friend. "What?"

Aoba stared at him. "You two have been sending out sex vibes for years. We've all been waiting for you to just get together and do it." He scowled. "Lost two thousand yen on that bet, too. I had you set for three months ago."

"You—" Genma's mind was whirling. "_What_?"

Aoba shrugged. "Oh, never mind. The important thing is that you're both happy. I trust you had a good night?"

He held up a warning hand when Genma opened his mouth.

"No—don't give me details, Shiranui. I don't want to know how my little sister is in bed, thank you all the same. Anyway, let's finish up with the mission, and then we can get you back to your blushing bride."

"It's not like we're getting married," Genma muttered under his breath, still slightly red.

Aoba grinned at him, then turned his attention back to the forest they were hopping through.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_All right, there you go. Again, if anyone wants flashbacks, review and tell me—I'll do my best. Thanks for sticking through._


End file.
